All I Have Left
by lobelia07
Summary: Another one of those drabble filled oneshots! ObiWan and Anakin reflect on what they've really been left with following ROTS.


Disclaimer: Thanks to George Lucas, I was depressed for a week. Anakin _had_ to go evil….

Author's note- So I finally wrote a small one-shot Star Wars story! Laubo should be so proud. This doesn't have an entirely solid point to it, really. Just thoughts for food. (Doesn't make any sense, I know, but the things that don't make sense in this world are the most entertaining.)

All I Have Left

There has to be two suns, of course, as if it wasn't hot enough with just one. Sand everywhere, unbearable terrain, and absolutely nothing to do. That is what you have left me with.

I've gone from living in the comfortable quarters of the esteemed Jedi Temple to a gritty dump in the middle of a world-wide desert. I rarely get visitors anymore. The sand people come to call every once and a while, I suppose, but upon sight of a lightsaber they thankfully scatter. I'm not sure why, but for some reason this particular reaction wreaks of your presence, as if you somehow had something to do with it. Well then, at least you've given me that.

Your son is boring, for lack of sounding rude. I watch him grow and play, and each day weighs a little more on my heart as I see how closely he resembles you – stubborn, reckless, and undoubtedly strong in the Force. Still, through my sadness I cannot help but dwell in the boredom that comes with watching a six-year-old all day. His aunt and uncle do nothing but work the farm. They were born into this life and they'll die in it too. It's a shame, really; the farthest they've been into the galaxy is Mos Eisley. And that house, well, it looks shorter than me.

I've had to take on a new name, of course. I've decided to keep my last name, just in case someone ever really _needed_ to find me. My first name though, is Ben. Qui-gon helped me pick it out. He's one that I do still see, ironically enough. It's funny, really, to think that if you would've stayed with us – with me – you could have gotten something you'd wanted all along.

It's interesting talking to a dead person. They're all shimmery and blue, full of cryptic messages of what was and what is to come. I've berated Qui-gon a fair few times for that whole "train him, Obi-wan," thing. Stupid guy had to die and leave me with you. He just smiles though, as if I had never said a thing. He was always like that, I guess.

It's been so long since I've properly trained with a lightsaber. I doubt that I could even manage the swish and flick techniques of a Padawan if forced to fight at the moment. Next time we fight (I am dreadfully certain that there will be a next time) let's try to do so on flat ground for a change. The jumps and leaps from high locations and bottomless holes would not suit me now.

I still have your lightsaber, of course. I'd like to say that I take it out every now and then, swing it around in some sort of weird victory ritual, but my temporary defeat of you that day was not a victory – it was the greatest loss of my life. You are dead to me in a way, betrayed, murdered, lost. That shell you call a body is definitely not you. How could it be? My brother died and his lightsaber will remain an heirloom, haunting me until I finally pass it on to his son.

So this is what you've left me with: shattered remnants of the past and empty hopes for the future. I miss you. I miss the you I used to know. At least _he_ would've left me some sun block as well.

Obi-wan

* * *

I killed another man today. Not that it really hurts anymore, mind you. Nothing could hurt more than losing her, than knowing that I failed again. Even through everything, I failed again.

Why does life have to suck? Why do people have to die? Why are choices and decisions never clear? There should be no conflict – I knew what I was doing. I had been so _sure_….

I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. I have accepted that there was a betrayal of some sort. I have accepted that you hurt me and that you left me to die. There's nothing more than that, really. There's nothing more left to know than what you've already left me to know.

I don't much like the name Darth Vader. True, Anakin is a word that drills into me with such overwhelming cruelty now, forever reminding me of the past, but Darth Vader is just so cold. It is numb, which I suppose reflects my emotions now. All I know is hate, rage, and regret.

There is something about seeing the same faces around every corner that brings a certain monotony to my life here. Clone after clone, replica after replica, it never changes. Everything is so solid here, hard and dark. All the same. Not like on Naboo, with its soft greens and deep, clear waters, or Coruscant with its horizon so cluttered with glimmering skyscrapers. Even Tatooine, dusty and insufferable, had at least some diversity. And it was warm there. If there is one thing I've never forgotten, it is that space is cold.

So what do I have now, after the Republic has crumbled, after I lost the one person I wanted to save the most? I have a wrinkly master with a bald spot that I'm forced to bow down to every five seconds. I have meaningless power to do whatever I wish. And of course, I have memories. Her glowing face split with a smile of eager anticipation as she thought of our child. The way she moved, spoke, laughed, so full of soft lissome grace. And you. You, calling me your brother.

No reason to live: that is what I'm left with now.

Anakin

* * *

Author's note- Okay, so there you go. Please tell me if it's crap, or tell me if you liked it. Oh, and give me something else to write about because I am fresh out of ideas. Name some clones, and have a great day! 


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